


Breathe

by orphan_account



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, Genderswap, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Rule 63
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-04
Updated: 2013-05-04
Packaged: 2017-12-10 08:48:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/784145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Courfeyrac would like it to be known that she heralded Combeferre's sexual self-discovery.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breathe

Combeferre’s ears are plugged up, so she just smiles and waves as Courfeyrac storms cheerfully out of the room for lunch with Prouvaire. They’ll be at least an hour, Combeferre knows, probably closer to two, so she has the afternoon to herself. Immediately she unplugs her headphones and turns the speakers up on her laptop, relishing the unadulterated quality of sound simply impossible to achieve with Courfeyrac in the room. Not that Combeferre minds her making up her own lyrics over the ones she can’t remember; Combeferre sometimes joins her—it’s just that she’s forgotten what real singers sounds like, and she misses being able to really listen to things.

As she goes from Switchfoot to John Mackey to Bon Iver, Combeferre wonders what Courfeyrac does when she’s gone. She probably jumps on Combeferre’s bed singing Jonas Brothers or knows the password to Combeferre’s computer or has boys over or masturbates and Combeferre blinks at the sudden and entirely too vivid image that has her nether regions suddenly very attentive.

After a long, still moment that does nothing to relieve the urge, Combeferre strokes herself through her pants thoughtfully. After another long, still moment just about as successful as the first, she unzips her pants. She’s never done this before. She only just started considering it a few weeks ago, out of curiosity, and the thought’s been sizzling through her brain since. Now here she is alone and sure to remain so for at least another half hour—now is the opportune moment. Her whole crotch is throbbing at the thought of it, and she rubs her underwear, her eyes fluttering shut. Then her hand is inside her underwear and she shivers as her cold fingers card through the coarse hair to sear against the warm, sensitive skin between her legs. She props herself up on pillows as she moves her fingers curiously, letting her head rest back against the wall. It’s a good throb now, not a tense one, and her fingers move in small circles, gradually pressing harder and pinching and rolling flesh. A groan escapes her lips as the pleasure broaches a whole new level

and then the _fucking door opens_ and Combeferre can’t do anything but stare, frozen in horror, at Courfeyrac’s wide eyes.

They stare at each other, motionless, for entirely too long. Then Courfeyrac hurries to shut the door behind her, and turns around with a horrible grin.

“Do you want me to go away?” she asks gingerly, and Combeferre is struck by two conflicting reactions of _duh_ and _absolutely not_. She numbly shakes her head and Courfeyrac perches on her own bed, and there’s no way her center of gravity shouldn’t send her plummeting to the concrete floor between the beds, but Combeferre can’t really focus on that right now.

Before Combeferre’s bug-eyes get too awkward, Courfeyrac blurts out, “Can I help?”

That shocks Combeferre into functionality. She takes her hand out of her pants and it remains awkwardly suspended because it is covered in _fluid_ and Combeferre has that much of her wits about her, at least. She opens her mouth, shuts it, opens it again, and sighs. It sounds like a surrender. “You weren’t supposed to be home forever.”

Courfeyrac has the grace to make her grin shy. “Sorry, lovely. I really can go away if you’re uncomfortable.”

Combeferre laughs, and the sound relaxes her as if it isn’t coming from her. “Uncomfortable has already happened.”

Courfeyrac darts to Combeferre’s bed in two deerlike leaps, landing between Combeferre’s legs, a normal friendly distance had Combeferre’s pants been zipped and her hand not just recently departed from them. “I don’t have to touch you. I can touch myself, I can kiss you, I can... do that for you,” Courfeyrac trailed off, eager to hear Combeferre’s reaction.

Combeferre would have been lying had she told Courfeyrac she had no interest in watching her masturbate, and she was never very good at lying. “Let’s... do it together,” she said, letting out the too-big breath she’d sucked in. “And you can kiss me.”

Courfeyrac’s smile is radiant and soft and her hands warm on Combeferre’s face as she immediately takes her up on that offer. Combeferre timidly replaces her hand, gradually turning herself back up. Courfeyrac withdraws, lips red and wet, and unzips and tosses her pants, leaving on her underwear as an expression of respect for privacy that Combeferre was unsure existed before now. Combeferre watches, riveted, as Courfeyrac reaches inside her panties and starts stroking herself, her eyelids sinking halfway shut as a secretive grin lights up her face.

Combeferre’s thighs are starting to twitch before long, and Courfeyrac’s hand speeds with her own as she leans forward for a kiss, which turns into more of a forehead press and communal breathing than a kiss. Combeferre feels a blissful burn blossom between her legs and pitches forward hard as her stomach muscles seize in an onslaught of sharp, hot pleasure. It keeps going once she’s started it, like a yawn, and she clutches Courfeyrac’s side with a moan, not plagued with the vaguest idea that she might be overstepping. Her orgasm seems to trigger Courfeyrac’s, and as Combeferre starts to loosen up, she feels Courfeyrac go stiff, fisting her hand in her shirt as she lets out the most glorious sound Combeferre has ever heard, a blissful, resonant cry.

They breathe together for a moment, hearts racing and blood singing. Combeferre’s forehead is pressed into Courfeyrac’s shoulder and Courfeyrac’s fingers are digging into Combeferre’s shoulder.

“Have you never done that?” Courfeyrac asks, still breathless. When Combeferre doesn’t answer, she sits back, curiously searching Combeferre’s face. Combeferre finds it in her nervous system to shake her head. Courfeyrac smiles fondly, touching Combeferre’s cheek. “I have to say, that surprises me even from you.”

“Thank you,” is all Combeferre can say.

Courfeyrac waves the gratitude away. “It is my pleasure and my duty to enlighten you, my dear. And should you ever find yourself in need of anything a little more personal, I am absolutely at your service.” She can’t smother a smug little smirk. “Can I count as your first time?”

Too nervous to reciprocate the flippancy, Combeferre laughs. “Sure, Courf.”

Courfeyrac glows. “I am honored to have heralded your sexual self-discovery.”

Combeferre kisses her again, softly, and Courfeyrac is a little sobered at the realization that this is way more important to Combeferre than it was to her. Courfeyrac throws her arm around Combeferre’s neck, holding her until her nervous system has regrouped enough to go wash her hands. “You go, girl!” she calls after her, and she hears Combeferre let out a weak giggle and another relieved, “Thank you.”


End file.
